


Just Peachy

by MapleleafCameo



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Peaches - Freeform, Sex, sex and peaches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were several peaches leftover from pie making and Bitty held one in his hand. Biting into it, he made a very satisfying and slightly obscene noise as the juice squirted out and rolled from his lips to cover his chin, his hand, down his wrist and onto his arm. Some of that incredibly sweet and tart juice chanced to enter his mouth although with the amount on his skin it seemed hard to imagine. Bitty, evidently, liked eating peaches, peaches that had arrived with him when he came earlier in the week. Fresh, fragrant, ripe, juicy, Georgia peaches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Peachy

**Author's Note:**

> Bless [Ngozi](http://ngoziu.tumblr.com) and her lovely characters from [Check Please!](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com)

On his days off, Jack enjoyed reading.

Today’s choice of nonfiction literary goodness held in his magnificently large hands happened to be a book about naval tactics in the Pacific during World War II. Not his primary source of historical amusement, but he did enjoy a good sea battle now and then. Who didn’t?

Although he read with complete single-mindedness, he was peripherally aware of Bitty moving through the kitchen. Jack adored having Bitty in his life, in his kitchen and most definitely in his bed. At this particular moment, however, he remained very focused on what happened during the largest naval conflict in history. 

Bitty enjoyed baking, when not thinking about a certain French Canadian hockey player. Those two things were not necessarily mutually exclusive.

Today’s choice of confectionary heaven, currently cooling on the counter, was a perfectly browned, heaven-scented, Georgia peach pie. The succulent aroma of peach and slightly browned (not burnt!) sugar filled the air, wafting enticingly throughout the apartment. 

Bitty liked being here, in Jack’s life, in Jack’s kitchen (this kitchen, Lord!), and most definitely in Jack’s bed. It made a boy blush just thinking of some of the things they got up to. Who would have thought? 

At this particular moment, with the pie finished and the dishes washed, Bitty sat on the counter, facing the living room, his eyes closed, listening to music on the radio. Always listening to music. Music on his phone, music in his head, music of the ice and the workings of the kitchen, music of two bodies moving in sweet rhythm to the gratification and pleasure of both parties. His feet swung a bit, and he swayed, just slightly, enough to catch Jack’s eye as he sat reading on the couch.

Something about that movement, of Bitty swaying, made the sea battles of WWII slip out of Jack’s head, only to be replaced with images from last night’s romp in the sheets. Jack most definitely did blush. Those images fired up his nervous system and his respiratory system and a whole lot of other systems, which at this moment he couldn’t care what they were called except they made him want Bitty in the worst way. Jack closed his book, put it on the coffee table and sat up, the better to watch Bitty.

There were several peaches leftover from pie making and Bitty held one in his hand. Biting into it, he made a very satisfying and slightly obscene noise as the juice squirted out and rolled from his lips to cover his chin, his hand, down his wrist and onto his arm. Some of that incredibly sweet and tart juice chanced to enter his mouth although with the amount on his skin it seemed hard to imagine. Bitty, evidently, liked eating peaches, peaches that had arrived with him when he came earlier in the week. Fresh, fragrant, ripe, juicy, Georgia peaches. 

Jack’s mouth did a peculiar thing while he watched Bitty devour that peach. His mouth simultaneously dried up with longing for Bitty and flooded with saliva at the thought of biting into the tangy goodness of the pink and honey colored fruit. Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe the tanginess puckered his mouth and the desire for Bitty and Bitty’s flesh made him practically drool. 

Zero to one hundred, not much in between, Jack somehow got off of the couch and made it to the counter. He stood in front of Bitty, not quite touching.

Bitty, permanently hyper aware of Jack’s proximity, slowly opened his eyes, blinked lazily at Jack and with a shit-eating-smirk, gave that peach another munch. He then lifted his arm, wiped the back of it fetchingly across his mouth, his mouth, all plump and rosy from the juices of that peach, and licked his arm, all the way up his wrist to his fingers, slurping them one-by-one, slowly, in and out, tongue wrapping around each digit, down to the lowest knuckle. Never breaking eye contact with Jack.

Jack (zero to one hundred) became hard so quickly, and the room spun a little. With a growl, he leaned in, placed his hand, his magnificently large hand, on Bitty’s wrist, turned it toward his mouth and finished chasing after any stray juices left there. Never breaking eye contact with Bitty. 

The remains of the peach, forlorn now, forgotten, having accomplished its purpose, hit the floor with a slightly squishy thud and rolled a bit, not far, as it had lost most of its spherical shape. 

Jack’s other hand found Bitty’s other wrist, wrapped around it in mirror image and pulled Bitty closer to him, crushing his mouth against the sticky, tart lips. Bitty moaned a moan roughly as obscene as the noise of eating a peach. Jack moved his hands and wrapped them around Bitty’s back and shoulders, clutched at his t-shirt, tried to bring him as close as humanly possible. Sadly, the layer of clothes between them happened to impede that for now.

Jack’s mouth moved. It moved hungrily across Bitty’s cheek, licked, kissed, ravished, savored the last traces of peach to uncover the flavor of Bitty’s own natural scent. He licked, kissed and ravished his jaw line; Bitty obligingly tilted his head back to grant more favorable access to the tender skin on his neck. Jack’s lips nibbled and caressed Bitty down to the suprasternal notch, where some of the stray juice had flowed, pooled and began to dry. The intoxicating flavor of peach and saltiness of Bitty’s sweat hit Jack’s bloodstream, couldn’t possibly compare to any other aphrodisiac. 

Bitty managed to retain enough control of his fine motor skills to find the button and zipper on Jack’s jeans, his fingers making quick work of the fastenings and he shoved them down. Palming the bulge he discovered underneath, he pushed into it, making Jack growl some more. Jack’s boxers followed the jeans, down over his hips and Bitty wrapped his smaller but no less capable hand around Jack, tugging the warm, velvet flesh upward slowly at first enough to madden and inflame Jack further and then with a firmer and faster grip. Jack panted into Bitty’s mouth, the aroma of peaches combining with the smell of sex and lust. 

Jack came, quick and hot, over Bitty’s hand, shaking and a plain old mess. He stumbled slightly and might have dropped to his knees if not for the surprisingly strong arm wrapped around him. Bitty pulled Jack’s head down onto his shoulder and murmured into his ear, helping him down from the high of endorphins. 

Heaving in a deep breath, Jack raised his head, blinked sleepily, and smiled a smile that towed Bitty’s soul further into orbit around Jack’s heart and vise verse. He kissed Bitty’s cheek, lifted him up off of the counter, legs wrapped around Jack’s waist and turned to move, to take Bitty to the bedroom and finish what they’d started, but he stopped, his effort prevented by the jeans around his legs. He looked down and back up at Bitty, a sheepish grin on his face.

Bitty merely smiled back, unclasped his legs and put them on the floor. He leaned down and lifted Jack’s pants and then tucked his arm into Jack’s, as they continued on their way, Jack murmuring into Bitty’s hair. After a few steps, Bitty stopped, smacked Jack’s arm and declared, “We are not bringing the rest of them into the bedroom, Mr. Zimmerman!”

Jack shrugged. It would have made things a lot stickier, after all.

He laid Bitty out on the bed, his skin as golden and warm as the flesh of a peach, pink and honey toned, and as he removed the rest of their clothing, he wondered if plums would have the same effect.


End file.
